“I’d love to. I’ll call Mom, Pipi,” she said, ignoring my scowl.
A bank of pay phones waited in the hall under the stair well, and Lynne ran to one. I could hear the clink of coins going into the phone, the drone of her voice.
“So, you’re Pipi?” Chris asked, sure of himself.
“That’s what my family calls me, but you can call me Philipa,” I said, trying to be pleasant and losing the battle.
“I think I’ll stick with Pipi,” he said, checking me out.
Scurrying back to us, Lynne had a big smile on her face.
“Mom is so happy I didn’t skip school, we have her blessing to go to Blazo’s as long as we don’t eat anything the car hop brings over.”
“She didn’t say that,” I said, embarrassed.
There were just some things others didn’t need to know about our family.
“Oh, yes she did!”
Chris laughed, putting out an arm to lead the way.
“My car is across the street,” he said.
Walking to the parking lot, Lynne and Chris got to know each other while I was silent. Leaning forward from the backseat to continue talking, Lynne should have let me sit in back but she pushed me so hard to get into the front I almost fell into the car.
By the end of the hour, I knew Chris was attracted to my sister, in spite of her being a year older than he was. In high school, a year is a lot. He was trying to be a gentleman, though.
“Pipi, I wanted to ask you if you’d like to go to the Junior Prom with me,” he said.
“Oh, come on Chris. It’s okay,” I said. “You and Lynne have talked nonstop for the last hour and a half. You can ask her.”
“Pipi, are you nuts? You’re being so rude,” Lynne said, mortified.
“I’m so sorry; I don’t mean to be rude at all. I have no intention of going to the prom anyway, so I’m just being honest.”
“It’s okay,” Chris said. “I’m asking at the last minute because the girl I was going steady with broke up with me last week. And I heard through the grapevine that you were free now.”
Shuddering, I was not getting into a conversation with him about Wax. I wondered who the grapevine was. Commiserating with him, Lynne wheedled all the necessary information out in five minutes. He’d dated the same girl since the beginning of the school year, and when he didn’t want to go steady, she dumped him.
“That sounds familiar,” Lynne said, glaring at me.
Mouthing shut up, I opened the door to switch seats with her.
“Why don’t you sit up here, and I’ll get in back?” I asked. “Would that be okay with you, Chris?”
“Are you sure, Pipi?” he asked.
“Positive, Chris. I hate dances. You’d have a terrible time with me.”
Lynne burst out laughing. “Believe it, Chris. Pipi is a party pooper.”
Turning to look over the seat at Lynne, Chris chuckled.
“I guess you wouldn’t want to go to the Junior Prom with me, would you Lynne?”
“Well, I have a better idea,” she said. “Why don’t you go to the Senior Prom with me? That’ll really set your ex on her ear.”
“Why don’t you have a date for your own prom?” he asked, confused.
“It’s a long story, isn’t it Pipi?” Lynne replied, smirking.
“I have all afternoon,” Chris said. “You’ve got to tell me now. I’m dying of curiosity.”
“It’s not that complicated,” I said. “Our mother didn’t like the guy who asked her.”
“So it was no go,” Lynne added.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a mother denying her kid a chance to go to the prom because she didn’t like the guy,” Chris said. “Of course, if he’s a schmuck…”
“I wouldn’t exactly call him a schmuck…” I said.
“No, he probably is,” Lynne said. “He was pressuring me to, you know.” Lynne winked at me. “Badness.”
Stunned, I felt awful for her. Shaking my head, I knew what it took for Lynne to be good with temptation lurking around every corner. We watched our sisters take too many chances and it scared us to death. Even Ida, Lynne’s alter ego; even Ida walked a thin line. Hopefully, in college she’d be okay.
“I’m glad mom wouldn’t let you go now,” I said, sliding into the backseat. “He was a schmuck after all.”
Not responding, Chris might have been embarrassed by so much information.
“What do you think?” Lynne asked. “Would you like to go to the Senior Prom? It’s sort of short notice since it’s this Saturday.”
“Sure, I’d like to go,” he said. “I’ve even got a tuxedo.”
Our drinks arrived; like good girls, we only got Cokes. Our appetites wouldn’t be spoiled for dinner. I sipped mine through a straw while Chris and Lynne made plans for their date. Listening to my sister talk, I felt happy that she had the prom to look forward to. A fleeting emotion I couldn’t define right away passed through me, a gloomy disappointment. I didn’t want to go to my own prom so that couldn’t be what was troubling me. And then I defined it; I was lonely for Wax. Just as I recognized what my problem was, Wax and Blondie pulled up along side of us, like he had radar.
“Oh, heck,” Lynne said, turning to look at me with compassion.
“It’s okay,” I said, not wanting to get into a discussion in front of Chris.
“Do you want to leave?” he asked.
Concerned for my comfort, he was so considerate. I just hoped he wouldn’t ask me any questions about Wax. He must have known something was up though since he’d asked me to go to the prom due to that grapevine.
“Do you mind?” I asked, answering his question with a question.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Can you hold on to your cups or do you want me to signal for the carhop?”
“Just leave,” Lynne said, more upset than I was.
“Can I take you home?” he asked, backing up.
Peeking over Lynne’s shoulder, I tried to see Wax, who looked at Chris’s car in his sideview mirror. I thought we made eye contact in that second, his sad eyes and remorsefulness, all the while Blondie stretching to catch a glimpse of me.
Just as I was about to say no, don’t take us home, Lynne spoke up.
“Please take us home,” she said. “You’ll need to meet my mother anyway, and this is as good a time as any.”
“Oh boy, goin’ to meet the mother,” he sang.
Wax was quickly forgotten as the three of us laughed, relief that a crisis was narrowly averted.
“Just head down Outer Drive,” Lynne said.
“I know where you live,” Chris said. “I’m a caddy at the country club. I see Philipa, Pipi, running around the graveyard every Saturday morning when I head to work on my bike.”
“Oh, how embarrassing,” I said.
“Glamour girl, not,” Lynne said, chuckling.
“I guess before I leave the house in the morning, I’d better look in the mirror, first,” I replied.
The entire time we chattered, Chris disagreed. I thought he was sweet to pretend I looked okay when I ran early on Saturday, wild hair uncombed, harnessed with a ponytail holder, nothing on my face, not that I ever wore much makeup, ratty sweatpants and a tee shirt. Then the thought arose that Wax lived right there by the cemetery, too, yet he rarely asked to join me, or mentioned my morning runs. It didn’t occur to me that perhaps he was giving me the privacy I kept saying I had to have.
Following Lynne’s directions, Chris pulled into the driveway. My mother was waiting like a vulture as always, standing in the door with a worried look on her face.
“You made it home safe,” she called, relieved.
“Sorry, Chris,” Lynne whispered.
“What’s with the fatigue shirt?” he asked. “Your mom’s cool, like a hippie.”
Holding the door open for us, she examined us girls like she hadn’t seen us in a week as we filed through the door into the kitchen.
“Mom, thi
s is Chris Schmidt,” Lynne said. “He’s taking me to my prom.”
I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t hold out his hand to shake.
“Nice to meet you,” my mother said, looking at me.
“What’d I do?” I asked.
“Why aren’t you going?” she asked.
“Mother, do you mind?” I hissed, humiliated.
“I asked instead,” Lynne said, winking at Chris.
Glaring at my mother, she got the hint not to mention Wax’s name in front of Chris.
“I guess I don’t understand how someone as nice and as pretty as my Pipi doesn’t go to her own prom,” she said, sighing.
“I don’t want to go, Mother,” I said, enunciating every word. “Can we change the subject, please?”
“Yes! How about what am I going to wear?” Lynne said, although we all knew Ida and the other girls left many formal dresses in the upstairs cedar closet.
“We’ll have to put on a fashion show tonight,” my mother replied, still looking at me.
I wondered what Lynne had said to her on the phone, and then it occurred to me that she might have slipped and told her Chris was interested in me and that was why we were going to Blazo’s.
“What’s for dinner?” Lynne said, looking around the kitchen.
I noticed there weren’t any food odors. “What’s going on?”
“I’m so excited, I don’t know what to say,” she replied.
Clutching her hands together, she did a little movement that was endearing, rising up and down on her toes as though she was trying desperately to control her excitement.
“Mother, out with it!” I cried.
“Everyone’s coming from school tonight because Martha is engaged!”
Squealing with delight, Lynne, Mother and I huddled to together and jumped up and down.
“Is Hubert coming?” Lynne asked.
“Not this time,” Mother answered, looking at the kitchen wall clock. “He had a late class tonight, so just the girls. They have to go back early tomorrow morning. They should be here any second.
“Chris, if you hang around long enough, you’ll soon be bombarded with my other three daughters,” she said, unusually warm and chatty.
“You’ve got time to clear out,” Lynne said, wary.
“I think I’ll hang around, if it’s all right with you,” he said.
“Sit down,” Mother said, pointing him to the table. “I’ll make tea. Dinner’s delivered tonight. Anthony wants to see Angie.”
“I’m going to change,” I said, excusing myself.
“I’m right behind you,” Lynne said, then turning to Chris. “Will you be okay for a moment?”
“Of course, he will,” Mother said, gearing up for a thousand questions.
“I’ll be fine,” he answered.
Running up the stairs together, I flew in my bedroom, desperate to be alone for just a few minutes. So many emotions had hit me at once that afternoon; I wanted to empty myself of anything negative so I could concentrate on Martha. I just wanted to be happy for her.
But Lynne wasn’t having it, pushing me into my room close at my heels and shutting the door. Grabbing me, she held me by the arms.
“Okay, now be honest about this. Are you okay with what happened today? If you’re not, I won’t take him to the prom, just say the word.”
Shaking her off, I collapsed on the bed, suddenly exhausted.
“Lynne, it’s fine, okay? You two are perfect for each other. I didn’t want to go to the darn prom with anyone. Having Wax pull up like that was too much. It was such a coincidence, I felt like he knew I was in the car and he wanted to make me feel bad. But that’s ridiculous. How could he have even known?”
I picked at my cuticles while I made my little speech. Suddenly, I thought how Chris knew I didn’t have a date for the prom.
“I wonder if Wax put Chris up to asking me to the prom.”
Lynne stood in front of my mirror, combing her hair with my brush. Putting the brush down, she turned to me, frowning.
“Why on earth would he do that? You mean you think they’re in cahoots? That’s pretty outlandish.”
“I suppose,” I said, defeated. “How much can be crammed into twenty-four hours?”
“I guess we’ll soon find out.”
The sound of car doors slamming echoed through my open bedroom window.
“They’re home!” Mother yelled up the stairs.
“Go change,” I said. “I need to be alone for five minutes.”
Lynne looked at me, concerned.
“Okay, Pipi. I’m sorry about everything. And thank you for your generosity with Chris! You’re right. We’re perfect together. I felt it immediately.”
“Love at first sight?” I asked, fascinated, no longer thinking about myself.
“It was something at first sight, that’s for sure! Hurry, we need to get downstairs.”
Renewed excitement for Martha, I quickly changed clothes and met Lynne in the hallway.
“They didn’t come up to see us because Chris is down there,” she whispered. “That’s the only thing about dragging a guy home. I don’t like to share my family with anyone.”
“Me, too,” I said. “My family has been enough for me all these years, and you’re all enough for me now.”
It was true, to a point. Reaching for the door knob, I glanced in my room and to the left of the dresser, just out of range of view, my collection of Mademoiselle magazines, some probably dating from before my birth. The first issue I’d gotten my hands on belonged to Martha, but she’d hoarded my mother’s for years. I might have been ten years old when she cleaned her room, deciding to toss the treasure trove of fashion bliss.
“No!” I screamed. “Don’t throw them away. I’ll take them.”
“Mom,” Martha called. “Pipi wants my magazines.”
“Well, give ’em to her then,” she replied.
Helping me transfer the pile from her room to mine, excitement overtook me. I loved the magazine. My mother had a subscription to it, and we knew the ritual to be followed when it arrived. While we were occupied, she’d make coffee and sit with the newest issue, reading the stories and looking at the pictures to get ideas for ways to wear her hair or accessorize her dresses. When she was done reading, that was it, until Martha was old enough to be interested. Over the years, the magazine made its rounds of all the girls, Martha taking final possession of it because she had the biggest room. Soon they were in four neat piles, four feet high.
Anytime I wanted to read, she’d given me permission as long as I put it back in the right order. The stack was a history lesson of women’s fashion, and my goal as long as I could remember was to work there.
Stopping in the middle of the steps, Lynne turned to me.
“Pipi, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure,” I said, pushing her. “I’m thinking about the magazine.”
“You and Mademoiselle,” she said, chuckling.
The fashion commentary wasn’t the only appeal. Credit could be given to Mademoiselle for my love of reading, having introduced me to the short stories of Truman Capote, Joyce Carol Oates and Sylvia Plath. My mother, usually such a stickler about us adhering to the conservative in everything from our clothing to our values, never curtailed what we read. When questioned later in life, she said she hoped our impulses would be satisfied in fiction. My mom!
Chapter 6
Senior Prom that year was the game changer for Lynne, who fell head-over-heels in love with Chris Schmidt, and he with her. Looking dashing in a tux, Chris had the kind of confidence any man joining our family would have to have in order to hold together during the scrutiny of five women. Perpetually smiling, Chris devoted each day to doing when he could to make Lynne happy, and that endeared him to us.
Leaving Chris behind while she went off to college wasn’t an issue for Lynne. Staying home for another year was never a consideration. Not only would our mother haunt Lynne until she left just
to escape the tyranny, Chris had his own agenda; he wanted to go to the other big school, a rival of the one we would all attend. Saying goodbye wasn’t as difficult as she thought it would be; Chris drove her on move-in day, an act my mother appreciated because she still had the three other girls to move back to their dorms.
The summer before my senior year of high school, the first where I’d be alone, getting through each day became my secondary objective, my primary still hoping to work at the magazine someday. Part of making it a reality was giving the goal credence by sharing my hopes outside of the family. The situation sprung up out of nowhere, in yet another creative writing class.
The first day of senior year began like any other, that is until it was time to leave for school. I woke up to a quiet house, the sounds of the last day of summer filtering in through my window. A neighbor’s dog barked, traffic picking up on Outer Drive, the echoes of a woodpecker going to town. The sound on the periphery of consciousness, I thought my mother was chopping vegetables for a breakfast omelet at first, but when the racket continued for some minutes I knew it was the bird.
Soft foot steps coming up to my room, my mother opened the door a few inches and peeked in.
“Pipi, it’s a school day,” she whispered.
“I know,” I moaned. “Thanks, Mom,”
Although it was early September, I felt the chill of autumn. The temperature would rise later in the day, summer returning for a few, short weeks. I dressed and grabbed my book bag, taking one last look around my room. Leaving it was difficult.
It had been a summer of peace, the last summer we would all live under the same roof, a slightly lonely summer with my sisters all dating, going steady or engaged. I was the only one of us who didn’t have a boyfriend, and the solitude was unusual, but not painful. What I’d missed most was the camaraderie, my sisters and I against the repressive tyranny of our mother, but not so that she’d ever find out. Over the summer, I was forced into cahoots with Mother, wondering what the others were up to.
I already knew what I really wanted in life; one, to get away from the boring, domestic grind of home, the footsteps of which my sisters appeared to be following, and two, to acquire a job at Mademoiselle Magazine. The creative writing class my senior year helped define my goal in words.
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